


His Mother's Son

by Lithosaurus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, F/M, Mage!Alistair, Mother-Son Relationship, Rite of Tranquility
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7746790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithosaurus/pseuds/Lithosaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair's father is Maric Theirin, King of Ferelden. This will change his life. Alistair's mother is Fiona of the Grey Wardens, a Orlesian Warden, elf, and mage. This has changed his life.</p><p>Mage!Alistair AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

9:19 Dragon

“These are the apprentice chambers,” Wynne said quietly. Alim open his eye a hair. He could see two shadows stretched across the floor in front of him. One was the familiar outline of Wynne but Alim couldn’t place the other. All the apprentices were in their beds, either asleep or listening in like he was. The shadow didn’t have a stave strapped to its back so it couldn’t be one of the enchanters; it was far too short anyways.

 “They all should be asleep at this hour,” Wynne raised her voice a bit. Alim heard a gasp and a rustling of blankets. “So you’ll have to meet your fellows tomorrow. Until then, there should be an empty bed over here.” She led the newcomer to the bunk under Alim’s. Solona had slept there until...recently. His mind shied away from what had happened to Solona.

Wynne’s confident yet quiet footsteps tapped across the stone flags and stopped next to Alim. He squeezed his eyes shut so she couldn’t tell he was still awake. The new boy pushed a lone bag under the bunk and sat on the straw mattress. Alim tried to remember if the padding had been replaced with the rest of theirs. Probably not, considering the bed hadn’t been occupied at the time. After a moment, Alim could hear Wynne’s robe’s rustle as she knelt down next to the boy.

“This is a scary time and the future will hold much that is not good. I won’t lie to you about that.” Her voice was soft but firm. “Things won’t be easy, young man, but you’ll managed. Alim will help you, won’t he?” A little bit of her usual motherly warmth returned. Alim opened his eyes and met hers. Wynne quirked an eyebrow and he nodded. “Alim is about your age, and a good boy. He’ll help you find a place in the tower. Goodnight and sleep well, Alistair.” Wynne patted the boy’s cheek and left the room.

As exciting as new arrivals were, sleep was very appealing. The apprentice hall quieted as its occupants drifted back asleep. Alim was among them before too long. He didn’t wake up again for hours.

Dawn was always a bit tricky to judge in a tower with so few windows but the movements of the Templars were an accurate indicator. Alim jerked awake with the dawn rotation when one of the men dropped his helm right outside of the dorm door. The man cursed as his partner teased him and laughed loudly at the new dent in his crest. A few others shuffled about on their way back to sleep but a soft noise caught his attention and kept him alert. It almost sounded like wind.

Alim didn’t have much experience with wind. He had memories of weather from when he was very young but it was rare that a door or window would be opened enough for a breeze in the tower. Still, that was his first thought when he heard the soft sighing noise.

He was trying to pinpoint the source of the noise when he heard a hiccup and a cough. It wasn’t wind at all. It was someone crying. He wrinkled his nose. Crying was normal and boring. Hopefully, it was just one of the young kids being scared by a demon taking interest in them, not someone being actively pursued. Then he realized who was crying. It was the boy in the bunk below him. Alistair, that was his name. Alim remembered because their names started the same.

And because Wynne said that they should stick together. Wynne was kind and smart. She wouldn’t have suggested that if it wasn’t a good idea.

Alistair drew in another shaky breath and swallowed a sob. He was trying to keep quiet. Alim sat up. He knew what it was like to try staying quiet while crying. The young elf swung his legs over the edge of his bunk and dropped to the floor as softly as he could.

Alistair stiffened under his blanket.

“Hey, you alright?” Alim poked his shoulder.

The other boy rolled over and blinked at him. Alim gave a little wave.

Alistair sat up and wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve. He was human, blond haired and tan skinned, maybe a year or two older than Alim.

 “ ‘m fine.” Alim doubted that. He looked terrified and half-starved as it was. Alim had seen other boys arrive like this; they didn’t usually last long.

“Come one, get up. I’ll show you around before everyone else is awake.”

“What time is it?” Alistair seemed skeptical but he still got to his feet.

“Just after the dawn guard change.” Alim answered. He watched Alistair lace up his worn leather boots. They were practically falling apart but they still looked sturdier than the slippers they gave the mages. Those were barely thick enough to insulate his toes from the cold stones. He bet that those boots had been more places than he could even dream of.

And the boots were just the beginning of it. Alistair’s dirty wool pants had horse hair and dog fur on them. The cut of his shirt was unfamiliar yet not entirely foreign. Everything about him was new and exciting. Alim could barely remember a life outside the tower but this boy had been _everywhere_. He knew what life was like outside with sun and wind and freedom.

“I should show you the mess hall first.” Alim whispered as they tiptoed out of the dormitory. “It’s a good place to start and if you can follow your nose there you’ll never get lost.”

“Are they anything like the kitchens at a castle?”

“I’ve never been in a castle. Wait, did you live in a castle? Are you some sort of prince or something?”

“No! I, er, I was a kennel boy at Redcliffe castle.” Alistair explained. “I helped care for the dogs and ran errands for anyone who needed something done. I scrubbed a lot of pots, too. For getting in trouble.”

“We don’t do that here. Well, we all learn the spells for cleaning pots but we don’t really scrub them.” Alim explained as they walked across the tower to the main hall.

“The kitchens are in the annex there.” Alim pointed out. “I don’t think there’s anyone in yet. Karl has breakfast duty this morning. Sorry about that; he’s not the best introduction to Circle food. He makes the best little cookies for the apprentices but he _always_ burns the porridge.”

Alistair seemed especially interested in the food. As he explained what life had been like as a ‘kennel boy’ and Alim began to understand. He couldn’t imagine not having people like Wynne or Irvine looking after the apprentices and making sure they all got fed. Even high and mighty First Enchanter Elsabet would go out of her way to help apprentices if they needed it.

Alim cut Alistair off halfway through his description of how dog slop and human food were different. The hall door opened and three Templars walked in.

“That’s Jonna.” He whispered. “She’s one of the Knight-Lieutenants. She’s- just stay away from her if you can. But don’t make it look like you’re avoiding her.”

He was expecting another confused look but Alistair simply watched her as two of the Templars sat at a table on the other side of the hall. The third walked into the kitchen. They must not have been satisfied with the breakfast they got at the barracks. He turned back to face Alim and the smile that Alim had just barely started to see was gone.

“There are people like that in Redcliffe, too.” He whispered back.

“Let’s leave.” Alim tugged Alistair’s sleeve. “Race you to the library.”

“I don’t know where that is.”

“Just follow me.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a race, then?”

Alim grinned. “Not if I want to win.”

They tiptoed out of the hall and Alim broke into a run as soon as the door shut. Alistair hesitated for a second but was with him in a second. A moment later and the taller boy was ahead of him. Alim skidded to a halt and darted through the main entrance hall but Alistair was behind him again before he could even reach the stairs. No matter how many extra twists and turns he took, Alistair always caught up with him without even trying.

He flopped down in front of the catalog desk and panted. Alistair leaned over him and grinned.

“Errand runner- was that- literal?” Alim gasped.

“Sometimes.” Alistair shrugged. “So, er, this is a library?”

“Yep.” Alim popped back up once his lungs were cooperating. “It’s my favorite place in the whole tower. It’s supposed to have just educational or reference books like texts or histories but there’s a secret shelf full of adventure stories. I’ll show them to you if you promise not to tell the Templars.”

“Alim, I…”

Alim dragged Alistair to the historical languages shelf. “See these? ‘Ancient Dwarvish’ isn’t a thing. The actual Dwarvish is up a shelf but these are all the books just for fun. Or at least most of them. Elaena says there’s more somewhere else but she also says I wouldn’t appreciate them yet. My favorite is about Garahel and the Fourth Blight. He was an elf like me and he still was a Grey Warden who saved everyone. Do you like to read stories?”

“No.” Alistair shuffled his feet.

“Really? I bet you got to live stories, though. You got to grow up with Mabari war hounds and Banns, right?”

“It wasn’t that exciting. You got to grow up with mages and Templars.”

Alim wrinkled his nose. “Who wants to grow up with Templars? There even stricter than the Enchanters and they’re scary. They always watch us. Like they’re looking for a reason to hurt us.”

“But they protect people. They keep mages- magic from hurting people.”

Alim didn’t know what to say. Templars as ‘blessed peacekeepers, champions of the just’ was what he heard in the chapel but no one really believed it. At least, he didn’t think so. Keili seemed intent on it being true.

But Alistair didn’t know Templars in the Circle maybe he had seen them in a Chantry or when he was brought here but he hadn’t lived with them.

“I think that’s another thing that is true in Redcliffe but not here.” Alim finally said quietly. He didn’t look at Alistair, just picked up the volume he knew had Garahel’s story in it. He straightened up to find a reading nook when Alistair found his voice again.

“I’ve never read a book.” He blurted out.

“Wh- _never_?”

He shook his head. “I learned my letters but I never had a book to read.”

“Stay right here.” Alim shoved the book into Alistair’s hands and took off running. His heart was pounding when he got back to the library but he had made it to the apprentice dormitories and back in minutes.

“Here,” He puffed. He handed the book to Alistair. “For you. It’s- ‘Dane and the- and the Werewolf’. Illustrated. It's from my personal stash.”

“Do you want me to read it?”

“It’s for you.”

Alistair blinked.

“It’s a gift. It’s a book for you to read and then keep.”

“You’re giving it to me? Forever? Why?”

“You said you didn’t have any books in Redcliffe.” Alim shrugged. “And I have more books, anyways.” Alim had a treasured collection of a half dozen books that he had won, bartered, and stolen over the years. He had read each of them at least a dozen times and loved them all.

He couldn’t imagine living without his stories to read. The heroes, monsters, and adventures in them reminded him that there was life outside of the stone walls and ever-watchful Templars. They gave him hope and courage. 

But Alistair didn’t have his stories and now he was in the circle. He needed this book more than Alim.

Alistair was staring at the colorful cover of the book like it was something that was too precious for his hands.

“Do you want to read it?” Alim offered when he didn’t say anything else. Alistair nodded. Alim led him to a table and perched on one of the benches. The familiar title page with its faded gilt lettering shone back the mage lights and made the page look like it was glowing.

Alistair started to read aloud. It went slowly, awkwardly with each word sounded out but he was reading. Wynne had told Alistair that Alim would help him and there was no way in the Void that Alim would let her down.

Wynne found them two hours later while rounding up apprentices for morning lessons. ‘Dane and the Werewolf’ was held tight in Alistair’s hands as the two boys talked about the story. Alistair was retelling the different versions he had heard orally while Alim countered with his knowledge of Fereldan history. She shooed them to their classroom but smiled as she did so.

Alim didn’t notice because Alim was eight years old but that smile was bittersweet. She had successfully guaranteed that both boys would have someone looking out for them but she knew the risks of the Circle. For mages, friendship could harm just as much as it could help.

\---

9:26 Dragon

“Ali, wake up. There’s a Warden in the tower.” By this point, Alistair should have known better than to let Alim pull him out of bed for such things. But he didn’t, probably because he just as dumb as Kinnon said he was. He forced himself upright and squinted at his friend. The elf was already on the ground next to his bunk, fully dressed and ready to go. Of course; Alim was a morning person because he was perfect.

“A warden?”

“Yeah, a _Grey_ Warden. Or brown, actually. He looks Rivani. Come on, get up! Irvine’s going to want someone to show him around and we’re perfect for it.” Alim tugged on his arm.

“We are?”

“Yeah, all the Enchanters will beg off saying they’ve got ‘important things’ and the younger apprentices will be too shy to do anything. Also, we’re going to volunteer.” Alim gave up

“We are.” Alistair sighed but pulled his fanciest set of clean robes out from under the bed.

“Yes, it’s going to be perfect, Alistair.” Alim was fiddling with his staff rather than looking at him. Alistair narrowed his eyes, something was wrong.

“Why’s that?”

“The Warden’s recruit mages.” Alim beamed at him.

“And you think that this Warden will recruit you?” Alim’s smile fell a bit. “You haven’t even been Harrowed yet. Neither of us have. What do you have to offer the Wardens?” He knew he sounded harsh but he’d rather be harsh than selfish. Alim was one of the few bright spots in the tower. If he left with the Wardens…

“We won’t know if we don’t try.” He grinned and strode out of the room. Alistair rubbed a bit more sleep out of his eyes, grabbed his staff, and followed his best friend because even if Alim was quite good at getting them into trouble, he was nearly as good at getting them back out.

They swung by the kitchens to pick up some toast and then climbed the stairs to Irvine’s office. They camped outside the closed door to wait. Alim pressed his ear against the wood and Alistair munched on his toast while watching his friend focus.

He was in the process of finishing off Alim’s breakfast as well when the elf jumped back from the door. He leaned casually against the stone and closed his eyes, as if he was barely awake, not a hard impersonation. A moment later Irvine’s door swung open.

“…for your consideration.” The warden was saying.

“I regret that I could not have helped you more.” Irvine didn’t sound apologetic but then again he rarely did. The two men stopped short when they noticed Alim and Alistair standing by the door.

“First Enchanter?” Alim made a show of perking up.

“Alim,”

“I wanted to return your copy of _Maleficarum Incognito_.” He pulled the book from inside his robes.

“Oh? I wasn’t aware I had lent it out.”

“I found it in the senior enchanters’ study.” Alim shrugged.

“And what were you doing in there?” Irvine sighed.

“Looking for a copy of _Maleficarum Incognito_. I didn’t realize this one was yours until I was reading it.”

Irvine took the book and flipped through it to check for damage. He hummed and looked the two of them up and down.

“Alistair, will you show Warden Commander Duncan to his chamber in the guest rooms? I need to speak with you, Alim.”

“Oh, er, of course.” Alistair nodded. Alim’s plan wasn’t going to pan out after all. “If you’ll follow me, ser?”

Alim chewed on his lip as he followed Irvine into his office. Alistair felt eyes on the back of his head as he led the Warden to the guest chambers. Something was off. Alim’s strange unease this morning and now Irvine pulling him aside. This couldn’t be about their Harrowings, could it? They were both too young to face them by a year at the very least. He was so distracted that he nearly walked past the guest chambers that would hold…Duncan? That was his name.  

“Here you go, ser.” He backtracked a step and opened the door. He tried not to stare as he ushered the man. It was about half the size of the upper apprentice hall and held just one person, not dozens.

“Thank you. It’s Alistair, correct?”

“Yes, ser.”

Duncan hummed and looked Alistair up and down. Alistair fidgeted. Something about his dark, piercing eyes made him feel like the man was three steps ahead of him.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Yes, ser.”

“If the chance presented itself, would you consider joining the Wardens, Alistair?”

Alistair blinked at him, dumbstruck. The immediate answer should have been yes. The Wardens were heroes whose only restrictions were their duty. They wouldn’t have to worry about Templars or Harrowings or Circle politics. If he was a Grey Warden he could get out and see the world. He could make a difference.

But there was a bit of nagging doubt in the back of his head. No Templars and no Harrowings meant that Warden mages wouldn’t be watched, that they could succumb to demons or temptation without anyone to stop them. All the little criticisms about his failings and shortcomings came back to him. It was no secret that Alistair would never be a great mage. He had never excelled at anything other than a few primal spells and ham-handed healing. And as nice as freedom sounded, battling darkspawn wouldn’t exactly be a picnic.

And there was the bigger problem; Alim. Alistair wanted to get out of the Circle but Alim was the one who had brought up the Wardens. Alim was the one who went out of his way to find Duncan. If Alistair said yes, than what would be the chances of the Wardens also recruiting Alim? The very first day that they met, Alim had spoken about the Wardens and how he wanted to see the world.

“It can be a rhetorical question.” Duncan said as the pause dragged on.

“Uh, yes, ser. But there are others in the tower who would be far better suited.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yes, ser. Alim, the other b- young man who I was with is very good. And he’s told me he’d like being a Grey Warden.”

“So you couldn’t be?” Duncan seemed almost amused by that.

“You’re only supposed to have one mage in the Wardens at a time, right?” The slight smile on Duncan’s face disappeared. He scowled and Alistair stomped down on the urge to apologize.

“That is a rule that the Templars desperately want to be true so they keep repeating it. Unfortunately, unlike the Fade, the real world doesn’t change simply because you will it to.” Alistair was surprised by the sudden venom in the man’s voice.

“Do you have any other questions, ser?” This was getting too weird for him. He wanted to get out of here, find Alim, and demand to know what was going on.

“No, Alistair. That will be all for now.” Duncan bowed at the waist and turned to his bags. Alistair would have assumed he was joking if he hadn’t been so sincere up until that point. He backed out of the room and nearly ran back to the apprentice halls. Something very strange was going on and he had the sneaking suspicion it involved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm once again traveling (hundreds rather than thousands of miles, this time) and will be w/o computer access for a few weeks. This will delay things for a reason beside procrastination.


	2. Chapter 2

He had to find Alistair.

His plan to plead his case to the Warden while subtly showing him the worse bits of the Circle had gone out the window. He loved Alistair far more than any smart mage should but the boy didn’t have an ounce of guile in him. He had to get out of the Circle fast and it was on Alim to do it.

When Irvine had pulled him into his office, he was sure he had been caught. The papers he had smuggled out earlier were burning a hole in his pocket. But nothing had happened. Irvine had lectured him about telling the whole truth and taking things from Senior Enchanters but he had gotten off without punishment. If Irvine knew he had taken Templar papers… That wouldn’t have been an issue to be solved by the mages themselves.

The door to Duncan’s room was closed when he reached it and he hoped that Alistair had already left. He raised his hand, glanced around to check no one was watching, and rapped his knuckles against the wood. The door opened a few seconds later. Each moment was agony.

Duncan looked at him and blinked. “Alim, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ser. May I speak with you?”

“That is what we’re doing, isn’t it?” Duncan rose one eyebrow.

“Inside. With the door closed. Please.” Duncan narrowed his eyes but stood aside.

Alim darted in. The sound of the door shutting behind him sent an involuntary shard of fear through him. Closed doors in the tower were never good. He set his shoulders, took a breath, and turned to look Duncan in the eye. The Rivaini Warden was watching him with open curiosity. 

“The Grey Wardens recruit mages.” He opened.

“Yes,” Duncan stated. “though, we prefer to choose potential Wardens who are a bit older than yourself.”

“Not me.” Alim shook his head. “Alistair, the one who showed you to here. He needs to get out of the tower.”

Duncan’s calm exterior broke for a heartbeat.

“You seem concerned.” He said when it was back in place

“I am. He needs to get out and the Wardens are a sure bet.” Alim had seen too many corpses brought back to the tower with fanfare. As long as the Templars had phylacteries, the only way out for anything more than a short stint was by legal means.

“Do you believe that Alistair will make a good addition to the Grey Wardens?”

“Absolutely. He’s tall and strong. He learns fast so even if he isn’t very experienced he’ll be great.  And he knows healing spells! That would be useful, right?”

“The life of a Grey Warden is not easy. It is not something that can be left behind.” He didn’t sound like he was saying ‘no’. He almost sounded sad.

“But it’s a life.” Alim countered.

Duncan cocked his head and Alim kicked himself. He had taken it a step too far.

“Do you believe that his life is threatened here?” He demanded.

Alim hesitated and debated brushing it off as a joke. But if Duncan could understand why he needed to move quickly…

He drew the folded papers from his inside pocket. The Warden unfolded and scanned over them. His face darkened as he read. He handed the letters back to Alim refolded and stroked his beard-covered chin for another agonizing moment.

“There are correspondences missing from this.” He said after a moment.

“Yes.”

“Do you not have them?”

“I do, but I can’t give them to you.” Alim squared his shoulders.

“Is that so? I suspect that the Knight Commander and First Enchanter have their motivations.”

“They do.”

“And?”

“And I can’t tell you, I promised I wouldn’t. Alistair would breeze through his Harrowing but they’re not going to let him try. It’s not because he can’t control his magic, either. It’s not for any reason that would concern the Grey Wardens.”

Duncan laughed. “You’re a bit wrong but you’re more right.”

“What does that mean?” Alim snapped.

Duncan grinned. “I just so happened to be one of the very few people who know what you’re not telling me.” Alim’s heart sunk. “I’ll get him out.”

“So you can use him?”

Duncan’s grin vanished.

“No. Because I made a promise, too.” He said solemnly. “This will have to take time. Not long, but if I simply say I want to recruit him and leave, Greagoir and Irvine will get suspicious. I’ll stay a few more days, speak with the mages and try not to step on any toes. Then, I’ll get him out.”

A bit of Alim’s constant paranoia melted away. Alistair wasn’t going to die before he ever had a chance to prove himself. Whatever happened next, there was that.

“If you can, return those to where you got them. _If_ you can.” He emphasized. “I’d prefer that no one suspects there’s anything out of the ordinary but don’t take any unnecessary risks. And tell Alistair. He seems to think that you’re the one who wants out.”

Of course he did, the selfless, humble jerk. Alim nodded and began to leave.

“And Alim,” He stopped. “Thank you for telling me this.” Something in his tone was off. Alim’s unease ratcheted up again. There was something he was missing about what was going on.

He retrieved the rest of the intercepted letters from his hiding spot in the library and kept them on him for the rest of the day. He had kept them too long as it was. There was the very real chance that his theft had already been discovered. The first chance he got, he had to return them. He didn’t want to know what sort of consequences there would be if he got caught.

Lessons that day felt as if he was passing through a particularly murky part of the Fade. It was all disconnected and distant. He should be focusing and playing dumb but Duncan’s words and his fears dogged him. Alistair noticed, of course, but he played it off as having slept poorly.

It wasn’t entirely untrue; Alim had been sleeping poorly for weeks. For years, Alim had been taking advantage of the night time quiet to snoop. He had been going through the Rite of Tranquility requests filed by both mages and Templars, among other things. When he found Alistair’s he had returned the freshly signed paper to its file with shaking hands and cried in the library for the rest of the night.

But that wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be the end because Alim wasn’t going to let them destroy his friend.

And because he had questions.

Greagoir himself had personally filed for Alistair’s Rite, something that Alim had seen only twice before in his years of snooping through old Circle records. The date of the request had been a whole month earlier and it had been marked several times since, showing that it hadn’t been abandoned but that something was delaying the usually quick process.

So he dug deeper. He didn’t sleep a whole night through for the entire month. Each night he would sneak out of the apprentices’ chambers and pour over the meticulously kept records in the vaults and offices scattered across the tower. It was exhausting spending hours on high alert, waiting for an out of place footstep or creak in a floor board with a dim mage light burning over his head but it was worth.

The packet of letters he gathered sat heavy close to his heart. The letter from King Cailan was the heaviest. Both he and Alistair had distantly recognized that on the other side of the country there was a man who looked like Alistair but held far more power. Somehow, seeing his signature made it far more tangible. Seeing his signature on a letter requesting Greagoir’s evaluation of his ‘relation in the care of the Chantry’ and, eventually, the letter that agreed to Greagoir’s plan was so tangible it felt like a punch in the gut.

But that wasn’t as bad as the betrayal he had found in Irvine’s records. It was vague and winding, deliberately written to throw off investigation but Alim knew what he was looking for.

Irvine, for all his pragmatism, wanted what was best for the mages. If Greagoir and Cailan got what they wanted, if they ‘fixed’ Alistair’s magic and made him the Cailan's heir, that could leave the rest of Ferelden’s mages at risk for a fate worse than death.

 _‘Even if the boy never fills his brother’s role,’_ Irvine had written to his contact in Denerim. ‘ _His presence in Denerim would send a message to the Chantry and to the people of Ferelden. We cannot have them believe that Tranquility is an acceptable solution. Tell me if Greagoir’s most recent missive concerns this un-Markerly plan. For the good of all mages, we cannot have a Tranquil seen as a full person.’_

And deep in his gut Alim was disgusted with how much he agreed. He knew next to nothing about the general citizen of Ferelden. He did know that Alistair had never even heard of the Rite before coming to the circle but had a deeply ingrained fear of magic. Now, with King Maric dead and the constant threat of Orlesian re-occupation at hand, how many people in power would be willing to accept one of the Tranquil as their back up plan until King Cailan and Queen Anora had an heir?

Irvine was willing to kill Alistair before letting that happen. Alim was willing to risk everything to get him out.

The window of opportunity he was waiting for opened during lunch. Irvine and Greagoir both took their seats at the head table in the mess hall to host Duncan. The whole tower was there desperately trying to seem like they weren’t watching the interactions of the three men. Even the Tranquil were more visible than usual. Logically, any ground gained or lost by the First Enchanter and Knight Commander would influence them as well but Alim had assumed they would passively wait for the information to come to them rather than look for it directly. Maybe they wanted it straight from the source.

Quietly, as everyone else ate and watched, Alim took his chance. He mumbled something to Alistair about needing the privy and slipped out of the room. The stairway never seemed so tall before. He slid around the corner to Irvine’s office at full speed. He wanted to return these documents first as the office was nearly always occupied. Greagoir walked patrols on a regular schedule and the storage vaults were nearly always deserted.

Just as deserted as the hallway before him.

This would be easy. The letters were in his pocket and he remembered where he had found each file. Alim found the familiar gap in the stone wall next to Irvine’s office. Irvine’s paranoia and caution wasn’t enough to place wards on every crack. Besides, you would have to be the size of a mouse to slip through.

Or one of the rats that scurried around the tower, despite Mr. Wiggums’s best efforts.

Alim drew in a breath and took hold of his connection to the Fade. It took barely a few seconds to expand his senses to every inch of his body and then, with a little tug that had taken years of practice, he twisted his shape.

A small, brown rat slipped through the gap in the stone and padded across the flag stones in Irvine’s office. Another twist of magic and a slim, brown haired elf stood alone in the room. He checked to see if he had tripped Irvine’s wards and then rushed to return the letters to Irvine’s various hiding places around the office.

Two more short bursts of magic and Alim was racing back down the stairs to the ground level of the tower. His head was beginning to pound. So many fast changes in shape and the stress of the last few hours were taking their toll. He’d have enough to return Greagoir’s letters, he had to, but he’d be exhausted for the rest of the day.

A lone Templar marched past the entrance to Greagoir’s office as Alim drew near. He hunched his shoulders slightly and tried to walk as if he had every right to be there. The Templar watched him as they passed each other but didn’t say anything. The clanking of his armor rounded the corner and Alim shifted down into his small form once again. He scurried past the open door leading into the Templar offices and darted across the floor towards Greagoir’s chamber. He stuck to the shadows cast by the various desks out of instinct rather than any need to hide in the empty room.

He squeezed through the gap in the door and popped back to full size inside the office. His heart pounded as he pulled open Greagoir’s journal and slid the letters back into place. The heavy leather book almost fell from his hands as he replaced it his fingers were shaking so badly. He took a moment to draw in a breath. If he had dropped the journal, there would have been no way that he could have returned all the loose leaf papers to their correct places. He couldn’t make mistakes.

A tremor still shook his fingers as he pulled the heavy ledger containing all the Rite of Tranquility documents from its shelf. He cracked it open and slid Alistair’s paper back into place. He blew a sigh of relief as he returned the book. It was over, he was almost out free.

His satisfied grinned melted off his face. There, on the back of the bookshelf where the ledger had sat, was a smudge of blue that hadn’t been there before. He leaned forward and squinted at it.

“Fuck.” It was a charm. A small one meant to go unnoticed. A charm that, judging by the looks of it, would trigger a second half somewhere else. He had been noticed after all.

Alim threw open the door and ran across the empty room. He had to get out before Greagoir came to check what had triggered his trap. He slammed open the door to the main hallway and took two steps before crashing face first into a metal breastplate.

The Templar blinked at him for a moment. She surely wasn’t expecting an elf to crash straight into her, certainly not one barreling out of Greagoir’s offices rather than calmly shapeshifting and hiding instead of panicking like a stupid child.

By the time she reacted, Alim had already scrambled to his feet and was bolting in the opposite direction. His plan was in shambles. He had been caught and Maker knew what was going to happen to him now. What mattered was what had started this whole ordeal; Alistair.

Why hadn’t he waited to return Greagoir’s papers until he wasn’t shaking in fear? Why hadn’t he told Alistair what was going on when he had first found the Rite? Why hadn’t he told his friend to trust Duncan after they had spoken? Why did he panic like a stupid-

The Silence shocked him enough that he tripped over his own feet and crashed onto the cold stone floor. The Templar was yelling at him and clattering closer and closer. Tears burned at the corner of his eyes as his palms stung and his chin and began to throb.

Alim gritted his teeth around the pain and shoved himself up with his tender palms. The mess hall was just around the corner if he could warn Alistair…He had no idea what he would warn him about but he had to try. Maybe making a scene would help. He kept running.

He shoved the heavy door to the mess hall open mostly using his own momentum. Everyone in the room simultaneous turned to look at him. He was the center of attention for nearly the whole tower and it was the last thing he wanted. Any words that were on his lips died.

“Is that blood?” Someone gasped.

“That’s Alim. He wouldn’t…”

“He has been acting rather-”

“Alim!” Irvine’s bark cut through the whispers. “What is the meaning of this?” He was glaring at Alim with potent disappointment and anger. Duncan looked rather impressed next to him and Greagoir was doing a poor job of hiding his self-satisfied smirk.

“Ser!” The Templar behind him wheezed. “This mage was-”

“The Knight Commander has record of all the known and suspected liaisons between mages and Templars!” Alim interrupted. The Templar made a strangled noise. “And he knows which Templars are taking extra lyrium from the stores.”

“Alim! Do not make this worse for yourself.” Greagoir snapped and shoved himself away from the table.

Alim found Alistair at their table and made contact with his wide eyes. His mouth hung open behind his hand. Alim would have smiled at the familiar look of concern but there was more to say.

“There are records of all the Rites of Tranquility done,” Alim broke his eyes away and watched the Knight Commander storm across the room. “Complete with explanations. Some of them have piss-poor excuses.”

Greagoir never looked so tall as when he was a yard away and drawing closer with a murderous stare. Alim squared his shoulders and readied himself for Greagoir’s snarls. He wasn’t ready for the backhand.

The hard edge of Greagoir’s gauntlet collided with his cheek and he had enough time to feel the skin of his face split open before his head crashed into the ground and everything stopped.

\--

“Return to your quarters.” Greagoir ordered. “And take this boy downstairs. First Enchanter, we should speak.” His voice was low and he didn’t turn until he addressed Irvine but everyone heard him. The mess hall was still as a grave. No one moved, no one breathed.

Greagoir glared at the shocked mages. “Now!”

His neighbors leapt to their feet but Alistair felt as if his legs were paralyzed. Alim was a crumpled lump on the floor. He had looked directly at him as he mentioned the Rite of Tranquility…

The Templar scooped Alim up and carried him away from the door. Feeling like he was in a strange dream, Alistair got to his feet. No one looked at him as he left the mess hall and walked towards the dormitory.

“Alistair.” An unfamiliar voice called out to him. It was Duncan. The Warden patted his shoulder sympathetically and brushed past him on the way to Greagoir’s office. Alistair watched the man’s armored back retreat until he realized what had happened. There was a weight in Alistair’s pocket that hadn’t been there a moment ago. He resisted the urge to pull it out until he reached the dorm.

Alistair climbed into Alim’s bunk. It was dumb and someone would tell Greagoir but he needed it. He pulled the object from his pocket. It was one of the dinner napkins wrapped around a small but wickedly sharp blade. On the cloth, in a cramped hand written with quick dry ink, there was a note.

            _Alistair,_

_You’re in danger. I and G know about M. Go to basement storeroom with broken boats and knife in lintel, gap in wall leads to tunnels underneath tower. Password’s ‘secondary characteristic’. Follow the paved passageway to an intersection. I will meet you there and explain. You are in danger._

_-D_

Maker's golden ass.

This day just kept getting weirder. He didn’t know how Duncan knew about Maric, or how Duncan knew that Irvine and Greagoir knew about Maric but if it was connected to Alim acting on edge…Alim always was too clever for his own good and last he saw his friend, he was being dragged down to the dungeon with blood on his face. Alistair’s instincts had been right. Something was happening.

Every lesson he had learned in the tower told him to stay where he was and not draw attention to himself, be unnoticeable. It shouldn’t matter that King Maric was his father; he was a mage and out of the line of succession. It shouldn’t have mattered but if Alim had gotten Duncan on his side and it was important enough for him to earn Greagoir's wrath…

The crack of the gauntlet on Alim’s cheek echoed in his mind. He had to get to the basement.

The door to the dormitory was still open. The underground storerooms should connect to the room Duncan mentioned. He just had to get there. Alistair tucked the knife into his pocket with the note, jumped off the bunk, and grabbed his staff. Time to do something very noticeable.

“What are you doing?” Jowan hissed. “You’ll get-”

“I’m going to talk to Irvine.” Alistair lied.

“Greagoir said-”

“Greagoir just broke Alim’s face!” Alistair snapped. “I’m talking to Irvine.”

He stormed past Jowan and made for the stairs. The halls were unnervingly quiet, it meant that whenever a Templar was about to clatter around a corner, he had time to duck into a classroom or cranny.

The door to the lower storerooms was locked, as always. It was more or less assumed that the crumbling, subterranean rooms held a way out. They had never been investigated because no one wanted to go in there; Templar or mage. Alistair ran his hand over the warped wood then took a few steps back. Very, very noticeable indeed.

His little fireball burned the door more than it fractured like he wanted but the result was the same; no more door. He stepped over the burning splinters and lit a magelight. Immediately, he saw the knife that Duncan mentioned. It stuck out from the doorframe like a strange cloak hook. He couldn’t help but imagine that it would work as a perfect trail marker for his escape.

The ‘gap’ that Duncan mentioned wasn’t what he expected. It was more of a crack, an unevenness in the foundation that had opened up after centuries of damp to make a muddy hole where the wall met the ground. It stopped a foot in. Stone and mud blocked the back. Duncan had mentioned a password.

“Secondary characteristic.” Alistair whispered, feeling more than a little silly. The false back disappeared with a puff of magic.

A silly, prissy part of him that had never existed when he was still sleeping with dogs and constantly covered in horse dung balked at the idea of crawling into the hole. A more rational part of him recognized that it would be an incredibly tight fit and there was no guarantee that it would remain large enough.

Alistair looked at the open doorway behind him. The Templars might already be on to him. He couldn’t delay. He wiggled out of his over robes and wrapped them around his staff. He threw the bundle into the hole along with his magelight.  Then, he inched into the hole on his hands and knees and began to crawl.

He couldn’t decide what was worse; the part of the tunnel that narrowed down to a gap so small that he required him to wiggle along on his belly while pushing muck out of the way with his ruined robes, or the steep decline that he had to crawl down head first.

Probably both.

A close runner up with the entirety of the hours long ordeal.

By the time he pulled himself out of the cramped tunnel and collapsed onto the stone paving at the end he was coated in sticky mud, sore and bruised from hitting the walls, and exhausted. But he was out. He was out of the Circle and he highly doubted any fully grown, plate armor wearing, holier-than-thou Templar would be ready to followed him any time soon.

He was out of the Circle.

For the first time since he was nine, he was covered in mud, completely alone, and not sure where his next hot meal would come from. It was great. He let out a noise that was mostly a laugh. It echoed in the empty tunnel, sounding even stranger. He was out. He didn’t know for how long but he was out.

If he wanted to stay out, he had to move. The Templars had his phylactery and he was now in a completely foreign place that he suspected might be the Deep Roads. He climbed to his feet and stretched his tired muscles. Another burst of energy to his magelight and he got a clearer picture of his surroundings.

Immediately to his left, the tunnel had collapsed in on itself. He could see a tiny passage near the top of the ruble pile but that was it. To his right, stone pillars stretched out into the darkness. Even after centuries of neglect and darkspawn, they stood tall and uniform. The ceiling was unexpectedly high for a Dwarven highway and the roads were wider than the entire dormitory.

On the floor, right next to the mud splat his staff and robes had made, was a small message scratched in the stone. ‘Kinloch Tower, if you’re desperate’ it read with an arrow pointing to his escape route. Below that, in a script that seemed suspiciously close to the note Duncan wrote, was ‘no spawn allowed, fuck off you blighters.’ It had been partially scratched out but evidentially the editor gave up halfway through.

Duncan’s note had told him to followed the ‘paved passageway’ until he came to an intersection. This must be it and there really was only one way to travel. Alistair dimmed his magelight and began to walk. Compared to the slog through the escape tunnel, the trip to the intersection was hardly a challenge. He had to scrabble over a few fallen pillars and the damp air sunk into his bones until he put his mud-laden robes back on but it was still easier than the muddy tunnel barely wider than his shoulders.

By the time he reached the intersection, Alistair’s light was beginning to dim. He could see faded images covering the walls and road signs above the splitting passages but he couldn’t make out what they depicted. Alistair settled against the wall at the mouth of his original tunnel and waited.

He extinguished the magelight after an hour. The light had grown so dim that it was barely a glow and he knew he shouldn’t waste mana down here. Who know what sort of monsters could be crawling around looking for tasty mage flesh?

After another hour, his doubts were beginning to win. What if he had somehow taken the wrong passage? What if Duncan wasn’t coming? What if the Templars could follow him down here? What if it was all a trap to prove he was a flight risk? What if-

There was a noise from one of the tunnels. Alistair leapt to his feet and re-lit his light.

“Hello?”

No one answered but the tapping noise was joined by a muted clicking. Alistair drew the knife from his pocket and gripped his staff harder. Whatever was making that noise, it didn’t sound like a person. He took two steps into the open intersection and scanned the dimly lit stone. Something reflected a watery glint of light back at him from one of the tunnels. He squinted to see what it was.

“Maker’s sanctified-” Alistair scrabbled backwards as the spider came hurtling towards him. He dropped his knife to take his staff in two hands and flung a fire ball at the spider. It missed. The monster jumped on him, throwing him backwards to the ground. He managed to get his staff between him and its fangs, hooking under them and pushing away. The heavy, rot-scented beast writhed on top of him and hissed as it struggled to bite down around the wood.

Alistair screamed and tried to shove it away. The thing was the size of a pony and trying to do its best to eat him. It didn’t budge. He snapped his leg out to the side and caught one of its fleshy legs. Something crunched. The spider shrieked but didn’t let up. He kicked out again and caught the same leg. The spider faltered and scuttled backward.

Alistair scrambled to his feet and panted. The spider clicked its fangs and began to circle him. One leg was held out awkwardly to its side but that was hardly a victory. He was running low on mana and he had no idea how to fight a giant spider out for his blood. The continual magelight and his fireballs were draining him fast. He might be able to conjure a few more spells but that might extinguish his magelight.

The spider lunged forward again. He shoved a fire spell directly into its face. The weak flames sputtered over its eyes. Its recoil gave him a gap. He darted forward and brought the end of his staff down on the burned exoskeleton. The spider crumpled on the floor.

It’s legs still skittered against the stone. He needed to finish it off. Duncan’s knife was on the ground behind him. He grabbed it, checked his grip, and drove the blade into the spider’s damaged face. It twitched a few more times and stopped.

Alistair stood over the corpse and panted. He was covered in spider guts, his magelight was barely a flicker, and he felt like he had just climbed up every stair in the tower just to fall down them again. It was fantastic. The skittering footsteps of another spider echoed up the tunnel. He spun to face it and the footsteps retreated back into the absolute blackness.

There would be more. He needed to be ready. He pulled off his cord belt and dropped his staff to the ground. A few well-placed strikes with the hilt of the knife and the ornamental crystal at the top popped out. His fingers flew as he used his belt to secure the blade in the socket. He’d never been that handy but he’d learned more than a few knots working in the stables.

He pushed himself back to his feet as his magelight died out entirely. He didn’t bother to light another. Anything coming at him would make a noise before he could see it. Alistair stood with his staff in hand and waited.

Time blurred together without anything to mark it by. He grew thirsty and cold but with no light, he was losing his ability to judge time. It felt both like hours and minutes had passed when he heard more footsteps. The sound echoed in the cavern, as if the spider was coming from all three tunnels at once. He cocked his head and waited.

At first, it was easier without seeing the spider. He couldn’t see the finger sized fangs reaching for his throat and there was no way to judge the size of it other than ‘too void-damned huge’. He was hardly calm but he wasn’t fighting blinding panic on top of things.

He got in a solid hit with a wide sweep of his staff as soon as the spider drew close enough. It skittered backward and hissed at him. More arching slashes kept it bay for a while but it couldn’t last.

A thick, wet clod of something struck his ankle and stuck. Spider silk. Alistair tried to rip his foot out but it held in place. The spider darted toward him before he could ward it off with another slash of his staff.

Its weight hit him full in the shoulder and knocked him to his knees. He jerked his elbow backward into its hard belly and got nothing but another bruise for it. He felt his fangs whiff past his head, missing by inches. He ducked in case it tried again. The crushing weight of the spider shifted for another bite and, with one last panicked motion, he punched directly up with the beginning of a fire spell on his knuckles.

The sudden light left spots in his eyes. The heat from his own spell singed his head. The scream from the spider nearly deafened him. The spider’s weight slid off his back. It made a hiss as it retreated. Awkwardly, he swung his staff toward the noise, trying to get any strength behind it with his lower leg stuck to the ground. It hit something solid and stuck for a moment. He ripped it back and swung again, and again, and again.

The hissing had stopped a while ago but he kept swinging until his shoulders ached. Liquid dripped down his staff blade onto his hands and he tried not to think about what it was. The webbing still held his ankle in place, trapping him feet away from the corpse.

Alistair forced himself to stop. Needlessly expending energy wailing at a dead animal wouldn’t help him if another came along. He needed to get himself free and he needed to prepare for the next thing to come walking down the tunnels.

With one last, sputtering fire spell he laid a spark against the web around his ankle. There was a bright flash of light and the webbing began to give way around his foot. Alistair yanked it free and watching as the lump began to smolder. He inched to the nearest wall on his butt and leaned against the cold stone.

His heart was still pounding and he was exhausted. It wasn’t just the fuzzy, noisy tired of overworking his magic or sitting all day with his face in a spell book. This was the old, aching muscle, weak-limbed tired he used to get after hours of slopping stables or stacking hay.

Alistair rested his head against the stone and waited.

Soft footsteps echoed through the tunnels. Definitely not a spider, not unless the spider had lost of few limbs and started wearing boots. Was it darkspawn? They were supposed to infest the Deep Roads. Alistair readied his staff and checked the blade; still secure, if a bit coated in spider blood.

The footsteps were drawing closer quickly. Whatever was heading toward him was coming at a run. The sudden change in light almost didn’t register as anything but a trick of his eyes. It grew larger until he could see the shape of a man illuminated. By the wavering torchlight he could see an arm, a leg, a bit of a reflection, a swatch of blue. Blue, like the Grey Wardens. A wave of relief washed over him.

“Alistair!” Duncan broke into a sprint when they could see each other’s faces. “Are you alright? Are you injured?” He sounded honestly relieved.

“A few scrapes, few bruises.” Alistair shrugged. Everything seemed just a bit too unexpected to be real. Today had started with Alim dragging him out of bed with another stupid plan in mind and now, after Wardens and Templars and muddy tunnels and spiders, he didn’t quite know how to react.

“Are you sure? You didn’t get bitten?” Duncan surveyed the dead spiders at his feet. “Their poison can sneak up on you."

“I’m sure.” Alistair nodded. He couldn’t help but stare at the spider corpses. They looked far larger in the flickering light and those fangs of theirs…

“Alistair.” There was a hand on his shoulder.

Alistair shrugged it off. “I’m fine. How did you get here?”

“There’s another entrance close to the Kinloch docks.” Duncan explained. “I came down that way. I’m sorry for the wait. Ideally, you wouldn’t have met any of the Deep Roads fauna until later.”

“Later?”

Duncan frowned. “What did Alim tell you?”

“Nothing!” Alistair snapped. “All I know is that I woke up this morning and Alim has some plan that involves some Grey Warden and was acting weird! Now, Alim might be made Tranquil and I’m sitting in the Deep Roads with some cryptic asshole who somehow knows who my father was!”

“Ah,” Duncan said.

“Ah? Ah! I could have died! Alim might still die and no one is telling me anything!”

“Do you want to know what’s going on?”

“YES!”

“Greagoir and Irvine both know that you’re Maric’s son.” He stated matter-of-factly. “Alim knew and he also somehow had records showing Greagoir had a plan involving you and Tranquility that Irvine desperately wanted to thwart. He came to me to get you out.

“He only showed me only parts of the documents he gathered but I can make some assumptions. Greagoir wished to make you Tranquil, possibly as a way to both ‘fix’ you to be heir for the throne and to perhaps introduce Tranquility to the masses. Irvine was arranging for you to have an ‘accident’ rather than have Tranquilitynormalized.”

“Irvine wouldn’t-” he totally would. Irvine was the First Enchanter. His life was devoted to keeping as many mages alive as he could. The only reason Tranquility wasn’t the blanket solution to mages was the Chantry regulations that kept mages for other use and a thin veneer of mercy.

“It wouldn’t have worked.” Alistair insisted. “No one would have accepted a Tranquil king.”

Duncan shrugged. “Possibly. I try to keep myself out of politics but I wager that a temporary back-up plan would be accepted. And either way, Greagoir wouldn’t mind having the ‘merits’ of Tranquility paraded around Denerim.”

Alistair swallowed. “What happens to me now?”

“You said you would Join the Wardens if you had the opportunity.”

Alistair met Duncan’s gaze. “I did.”

“Does that still stand?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Alistair tried to play it off as a joke.

“Yes, you do.” Duncan’s voice was completely humorless. “I’m not going to force you to be a Grey Warden. I’ll help you evade the Templars if you wish. The easiest way to do that is to Join but I will not force you to be a Warden.”

“Why? I thought you needed a mage? Why else would you be at the Circle?”

Duncan snorted. “I value my teeth and my oldest friend.”

“Okay?” Cryptic asshole indeed.

He supposed Duncan was right, _if_ he wasn’t lying about helping him avoid the Templars. Alistair could disappear and live as an apostate, find some non-descript village somewhere and spin a lie, learn a trade, live a life. He could do it.

Or he could become a Grey Warden, could learn to fight and be one more brick in the wall between mortals and Darkspawn. Alim’s fascination with Garahel came back to him, as did all the morality tales about pride and the Black City.

He was out of the Circle but just getting out had never been the true achievement. Staying out was what was important. He could live in some village and be a stablehand like he was supposed to be but that would be looking over his shoulder his entire life, keeping a part of him secret from everyone around him, double guessing everyone’s motives. But a Grey Warden…

“I’ll do it.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He sounded sincere.

“But you have to tell me something; are you recruiting me because Maric’s my father?”

Duncan sighed. “In an indirect manner.”

Of course. “What does that mean?”

“You’re not going to like this-”

“Probably not.”

“-but I’m not trying to keep secrets from you. I’m trying to keep them for someone else.” Alistair frowned. Even when he was trying to tell the truth, Duncan couldn’t help but be cryptic.

“I knew about you before I came here. I knew Maric before he died. I was one of the few people he trusted with the truth before he gave you to Eamon. I knew, and that influenced my actions.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“There is. But I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Alistair snapped.

“A similar reason to the one that kept Alim from tell me Maric was your father.”

The response knocked Alistair out his anger for a moment. Alim _would_ keep that secret even when it was threatening to turn deadly. Without his frustration and with less panic, he felt empty inside. It had been a long day. Void, it probably wasn’t even ‘today’ anymore he had been down here so long.

“So, I’m a Warden, now?”

“Not quiet. There’s a Joining.” Duncan explained. “It’ll give you immunity to the Darkspawn Taint and will have the added benefit of making your phylactery useless.”

“Truly?”

Duncan nodded. “The downside is; we’ll need to find some Darkspawn,” He closed his eyes and cocked his head. “which shouldn’t be too hard. Follow me. Time to meet your first ‘spawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I learned more about spiders than I cared to for this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

This wasn’t the Fade. Everything around him felt wrong but it wasn’t the Fade. Things were too…present. Painfully present. His aching head was present. His empty belly was present. The bone-deep cold in his limbs was present. And the general sense that something was horribly wrong was present.

Alim opened his eyes. Or at least tried. The world was pitch black no matter what he did and a throbbing pain in his left cheek probably meant his eye was swollen shut.

From Greagoir’s strike. Right. That was what had gone horribly wrong.

Which meant he was in the dungeons. The cold and damp made sense now, as did the heavy weight pressing into his wrists. Alim clumsily pushed himself up with his manacled hands. With some groping and stumbling, he found a wall and leaned against it with his legs stretched out in front of him.

The events that brought him here replayed in disconnected patches. Running out of Greagoir’s office, Duncan’s arrival, Alistair’s face when he burst into the dining hall. Had it all really happened in just a few hours? And how long had it been since he had been knocked out?

The darkness and silence of the dungeon pressed down on him. Alim called a bit of magic to his fingers tips. Nothing happened. He tried again and there was a slight flicker of light. But it winked out a moment later. It was just barely enough for him to see carefully etched lyrium runes on his manacles: magic suppressants.

“Maker’s balls.” He groaned. His voice echoed in the empty cell and the sound seemed far too loud after the thick silence.

The Templars had dragged him down here, trussed him up without his magic, and left him here. It couldn’t be forever. Eventually they would…what? Interrogate him? Punish him? Make him Tranquil? He regretted not paying more attention to disciplinary measures in the past. Most of the transgressions of the apprentices were dealt with by the minders and mentors. It was only the truly serious matters of behavior that the Templars took issue with.

This wouldn’t end with another stint of helping the Tranquil wash dishes or a caning. This was a Templar matter on par with escape attempts or illicit magic, at the least. He had no idea what sort of punishment fit breaking into the Knight Commander’s office. They wouldn’t make him Tranquil, would they? The Rite was only meant for those who couldn’t control their magic.

Then again, he was here because they were going to brand Alistair and it wasn’t like was any actual reason for the Templars to hold by the Chantry’s rules. Who would enforce them? Who would care? Other than the Revered Mothers who only visited once in a blue moon or the Seekers (if they actually existed). Greagoir was the Maker in the Circle.

Alim pulled his knees up to his chest, rested his aching head against them, and waited.

Time lost meaning in the darkness. There was no way to judge its passage beyond his growing sense of hunger and the thirst itching at the back of his throat. The metal of his manacles leached the heat from his body and his faced throbbed with every heartbeat but he must have drifted to sleep at one point. He jerked awake after something brushed up against his mind with a distinctly malicious sort of curiosity. Alim didn’t sleep again after that.

When they did come for him, the sudden presence of torchlight blinded him. Two Templars yanked him to his feet and dragged him out of the cell. He stumbled up the stairs as they rushed him along and tried to blink away the sunspots in his eyes.

Greagoir was waiting for them in a nearly deserted interrogation room. There was a chair and the Knight-Commander, nothing else to soften the hard stone.

“Alim, please sit.” The commander directed him. The two Templars dropped him onto the stiff wood and disappeared behind him. They didn’t leave the room, just hovered out of sight.

“Alim, I hope you understand that this is serious.” Greagoir maintained his calm, gentle tone of voice. “You broke into my office and snooped in things that you don’t understand. I need you to tell me why.”

Alim swallowed and fidgeted. What could he say? What possible answer could he give that would make this any better?

“I, uh, I was just curious?”

“Curious.” Greagoir repeated.

Alim nodded.

“You expect me to believe you went through all the trouble and risk of breaking into my office because you were curious?”

“I guess.”

Greagoir sighed and shook his head. “I’m disappointed, Alim. I don’t have time to deal with lles. I’m going to have to send you back to your cell-”

“What? No!”

“-I want you to think about your choices. When we speak again, I want to know who helped you.”

“No one helped me!” Alim insisted as the two Templars hauled him to his feet. “I was just curious. I wanted to know about the Rite!”

Greagoir didn’t move, just stared at him with his arms across his chest and a disappointed look on his face.

The darkness seemed even inkier after his brief stint in the light. Alim curled up with his back on the wall they threw him against and did his best not to cry. Greagoir thought he was working with someone. He’d keep asking for names that Alim couldn’t give. Panic clawed at his throat and he shivered. His stomached growled and his watery breaths echoed against the stone walls.

He waited for longer this time. Or, he thought he did. Maybe it just felt like longer because his stomach was spasming and his head ached from the lack of food. His throat was so dry it hurt to swallow and the occasional bout of tears felt even more like an insult.

And there were demons. The Veil was thin enough for them to press against and whisper to him, even with the magic dampening in his manacles.

_Alim, you are angry. That is good. Anger can be power._

“Shut up.” He hissed aloud.

_Alim, if you let me in, I can strike them down._

“Shut up!”

_Let go, little boy. We can help you and they’ll never hurt another again._

He clapped his hands over his ears.

_Alim,_

_Alilm,_

_Alim!_

And suddenly the dozen scratching presences were gone. Something had yanked them away like curtains hiding a window and he was left with silence.

But then-

_Sorry about them. It’s so hard to keep one’s domain free of upstarts here._

“Go away! Leave me alone!” Alim screamed.

_If that’s what you wish but that’s not truly what you want. You’ve found yourself in a tricky situation, young mage. You might be able to get out of it on your own but I could help you._

He snorted. “Nice try. Nothing you could offer would be worth what I’d have to give up.”

_Hmm, perhaps. But what if you didn’t have to lose anything? There are many things that are useful in the Fade. You have something that is nothing to you but would help me immeasurably. Information._

Alim didn’t answer.

_I don’t need an answer just yet. I’ve seen this before. They’ll give you plenty of time to think. So think on it. A bit of information for a bit of information. No one would lose anything._

And the quiet voice disappeared.

Information. What information could Alim possibly have that a demon would want? What could it be offering? Names, like Greagoir wanted or something else. A way out, maybe. It had spoken of wanting and that’s what Alim wanted; a way to escape with Alistair.

Two Templars came for him soon after that. Maybe they were the same one, maybe not. Greagoir was standing in the exact spot Alim had last seen him. Tall, and imposing in front of the wooden chair they placed him in.

“Alim, have you considered my question?”

“Yes,”

“And?”

“I can’t answer it. I didn’t work with anyone. I- I was worried about the Rite. I wanted to know if anyone was going to be made Tranquil.”

“So you could help them escape? Pass them on to someone outside?”

“No, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.”

“Clearly.” Greagoir gave a long-suffering sigh and rubbed his head. “Fine. You weren’t working with anyone. Then how were you able to get past the wards?”

“I wasn’t evidently.” Alim tried to joke.

Greagoir scowled.

“How.”

Alim took a breath. Shapeshifting would not be an acceptable answer. The only mentions of changing shape outside of fairytales and the lonely battered book he learned from always came with blood magic connected.

“I-” Alim faltered. “I just- went around them?”

“Alim. I’m getting tired of this. You didn’t work with anyone else but you knew exactly where to find the records on the gift of Tranquility. You were acting alone yet an apprentice managed to get around the strongest wards in the tower. You were just curious yet you helped Alistair escape. This isn’t adding up.”

Alim’s heart stopped for a moment. “What?”

“I want answers or there will be consequences.”

“What do you mean Alistair’s escaped?”

Greagoir scowled. “That’s quite enough, boy. Stop trying to lie to me.”

“I’m not! I didn’t know Alistair got out.”

Greagoir jerked his chin and the Templar behind him slammed the pommel of their sword into his back.

Alim crashed forward and landed on the stone at Greagoir’s feet.

“You’ll go back to the cell and then you will tell me who helped you.”

Alim’s mind raced as they hauled him back down the now-familiar corridor. Duncan must have followed through. But would he be able to _keep_ Alistair out? And what if Greagoir jumped to the conclusion that the Wardens had helped him? He’d never be so frustrated with the isolation of the tower. He didn’t have the first clue of what life was like outside.

Wardens were heroes. They saved the world from the Blights and would do so again but outside of the legends, when it came down to one life, what could one man do?

But Alistair was out. Even if Alim was locked in a pitch black dungeon with no firm way out, Alistair was out. Alim smiled in the darkness. Now he needed a plan. A bit of a lie and a bit of truth mixed with a convincing performance; he could fool the Templars. He’d done it before, he’d do it again. Now, with Alistair out, he could sneak into the vaults through the cracked foundations, destroy his own phylactery and escape himself.

For a moment, he let himself entertain the idea of finding Alistair wherever the Warden had spirited him off to. Maybe the Wardens would take him, too. Then, they’d be free. They’d be Wardens and heroes and no one would ever tell them what to do ever again.

_Oh, Alim._

Just like that, the warm feeling of hope fled.

_It does not do well to count your victories before they’re won._

“I already said no.” Alim huffed.

_Yes, but my offer still stands. And it will keeping standing as long as you have the information I want and I have something need._

“I don’t need anything from you, demon. And what could I possibly offer you? Other than a vessel to be used and broken.”

_So sure of yourself and your teachings. There is more to us than what your Chantry says. I seek only to survive in the world where I belong. We are not so different. Show me your little trick, rat. Show me what you know and I’ll show you what I know. Names of those you could pin the blame on? Secrets that would keep you safe from pain for the rest of your life? Or maybe the truth of what has happened to your friend._

“He escaped.” Alim said, but a seed of doubt was growing in his empty stomach.

 _Lies can come as omissions just as easily as falsehoods._ The demon laughed. _Call for me if you reconsider. I’ll come._

Alim couldn’t help but shiver as the presence retreated.

Alistair was out, he could formulate a lie to satisfy Greagoir, then he’d escape himself. He’d be free. All he needed to do was wait and tell his lie.

He leaned his swollen, burning cheek against the clammy stone and waited.

And waited.

And _waited._

He recited the false series of events until he had each word memorized by heart. He whispered the words aloud as his eyes played tricks on him in the dark. He moved his cracked lips when his throat was too dry to make another noise.

Time was meaningless in the darkness but he knew it must be nearing days down here. ‘3 days without water’ was what the medical books said and he wasn’t dead yet.

Or, he didn’t remember dying. His muscles spasmed and his head ached. Between the demons and the delirium, he didn’t know what was real. He saw spectral Templars and Duncan with Alistair’s robes bloody at his feet. A blurry faced elven woman drifted in and out of focus in the darkness and whispered half-remembered lullabies.

When they did come for him, he didn’t even realize that they were real. The water they dribbled into his mouth was real enough. He coughed and begged and sobbed when they took it away.

Greagoir stood in front of him with burning lights all around.

“Do I need to ask my questions again, Alim?”

Alim closed his eyes and whispered the words he had memorized in the darkness.

Greagoir didn’t ask any clarifying questions, didn’t even speak until Alim was finished.

“Thank you, Alim.” The Templar smiled. “That clears up quite a number of things. But I still have one more question, what will you do now?”

Alim didn’t answer just shivered with his eyes squeezed shut. His lids couldn’t shut out everything and the false darkness was unnerving after the days in the dungeon.

“I ask because you seem to think that the Wardens would have protected Alistair if he had found them. And you just explained to me your little trick of stepping around walls. We will be warding the walls as well, so you know. You seem to think you have a way out and a way to stay out.

“Alim, I’m going to ask you a question and  I want you to keep being honest. Are you planning on escaping?”

Alim nodded.

Something cool slid into his hands.

“Look at it, Alim.”

His eyes were gummy and heavy but he opened his eyes and stared at his hands. A phylactery. It was dull red rather than shining with the red glow he remembered from his own Drawing.

A dead phylactery.

“Alim, I know it’s hard to see from your perspective, but the Circle exists for a reason. We’re here to protect you which means finding you if you get lost. Running away will just get you hurt. The world is a dangerous place. People outside don’t see mages as people, just threats. Escaping means that we need to find you.”

No, no, no, no.

“We found someone outside. We tried to save him but we couldn’t.”

Alim turned the phylactery in his hands.

No. He had a plan, it would all work out.

 _Alistair of Redcliffe_ was written the paper pasted to the front of the vial with two dates. The first was the day he had met Alistair and the other must have been today.


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re such a child.” Daila snorted.

“This is the first proper autumn I’ve had since I was eight.” Alistair kicked another pile of leaves at the elf. “Let me have this.”

The senior warden rolled her eyes but Alistair could see the corner of her mouth rise as she turned away.

After a month at the Denerim Warden compound, he’d decided that the large ash tree towering in the central training grounds was his favorite part. It’s branches had shaded nearly the whole courtyard before the leaves began to fall and now left a yellow carpet as high as his ankles at its base. Daila had compared it to the Vhenedahl in her alienage when he had first asked about it. While the ash tree wasn’t as tall as the Denerim Vhenedahl (which was visible from some of the upper windows) it still seemed to anchor the compound together. Along its trunk, over a hundred names were carved into the bark. Each was a Warden and nearly all had a date next to it.

Daila brushed a stray leaf off her head and resettled her grip on her staff.

“You’ll have time to play in the leaves later, puppy. Let’s focus on making sure you don’t die next time you’re in the Deep Roads.”

Six out of Alistair’s ten fingers were freshly stinging by the time their next interruption struck. It came in the form of Augustus, the grizzled Anders warden who doubled as the company blacksmith.

“Little Mage! Duncan looks for you!”

“It’s ‘is looking’, Gus.” Daila corrected him. “You better go see what that’s about.”

She took his practice staff from him and shooed him off towards Duncan’s office. As he left, he could hear Gus continue to deliberately misuse verb tenses to get a rise out of Daila.

Duncan was waiting for him when he reached the commander’s office.

“Alistair, would you close the door behind you? And take a seat.” Duncan _blinked_. And he just did it again. With anyone else, it would be normal interval but not with Duncan. The man was like a bowstring drawn taut and he focused like a loosed arrow. His unwavering, unblinking, inscrutable eyes were a trademark. Augustus insisted that he’d seen the man knock three sovereigns off a sword’s selling price simply by staring at the vendor.

Something was happening.

Alistair’s stomached knotted but he sat and crossed his hands in his lap. This was it. Duncan wasn’t happy with his progress or his weak spells. It’d been a month and he hadn’t even killed a darkspawn since his Joining. Maybe they were sending him back to the Circle with an apology letter. Or maybe Duncan had found a better use for a dead king’s bastard.

“Is something wrong?” Alistair asked.

“Nothing that’s your fault.” Duncan answered him.

He smoothed his hand over his head and looked away. Alistair fidgeted.

“Alistair, what were you told about your parents?”

“Sir?”

“About Maric and your mother.”

“Er, that Maric couldn’t acknowledge me because I was a bastard and insult to Queen Rowan’s memory.” Duncan’s expression darkened.

Alistair swallowed and continued. “And that my mother was a woman  from Denerim who died in childbirth.”

“Did they tell you her name?”

Alistair shook his head. “I have a half-sister named Goldanna?”

Duncan ran a hand over his beard and seemed to contemplate his next words carefully.

“I’ve been in contact with an old friend of mine. She’s a constable in Montsimmard.”

“Alright?”

“She’s your mother.”

Alistair felt his jaw drop and another knot twist in his stomach. He closed his mouth with a click of teeth.

“No, my mother- she’s dead! Arl Eamon said so.”

“Eamon lied. He was doing what his king told him.”

“Which was?” Eamon would never lie to him about something like that!

“To keep you out of the royal line. Fiona asked that you never know about her or Maric but that ship has sailed.” Duncan sounded angry but Alistair didn’t know why.

None of this made sense. Duncan had to be wrong; somehow mistaken or lying for some reason. Why would his mother have gone his whole life without contacting him if she was still alive?

“Fiona.” He repeated. “That sounds Orlesian.”

“She is.”

“Then I can see why she wouldn’t want me to be a prince.” It was his voice but he hadn’t made the decision to say that.

Duncan smiled softly. “She’s a warden mage, as well.”

“Explains the magic.” He focused on his hands and keeping his words in the right order.

“She’s an elf.”

Alistair’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He hadn’t even processed the idea that his mother was alive and now Duncan was telling him he was elf-blooded? None of this made sense.

None of this made any sense at all.

Duncan started to speak again but Alistair couldn’t listen to him. He had a little scrap of fresh skin on his palm from falling yesterday while training with Daila. His left thumb was still crooked from when he was six and got stepped on by a horse. A symmetrical ring of pink dots on his right hand marked where a nursing bitch had bitten him for getting too close to her pups. The skin along the underside of his first two fingers was permanently shiny and red from burning himself while practicing fire spells with Alim. They hadn’t wanted to tell any of the enchanter or they’d get in trouble so an older boy had done his best to heal the blisters.

None of those would exist if he’d been raised in a palace. When he was eight, he went deaf in one ear for three days because a cook slapped him for dropping a plucked chicken. Cailan probably had three different servants to wipe his kingly ass.

“King Maric knew about me. Is it because-” The lump in his throat cut him off. He coughed around it and continued. “Is it because she’s an elf?”

“No, Alistair, listen.” Duncan’s hands appeared around his. “I was there with her from the moment she realized she was pregnant to the moment she handed you to Maric. She wanted to keep you. She loved you and it tore her apart to give you up but there was no choice. Maric hated being the king and he hated what he had lost because of it. He didn’t want to force you into that.”

He’d been forced to use saddle blankets as a bedroll rather than freeze to death in the winter. Alistair wanted to snap at Duncan, to yell and push him away. He’d been there and he hadn’t stopped his dear loving parents from handing him off to the stablemaster. Eamon cared more than they did, at least he tried to look out for him.

But he didn’t snap or yell or even move. How could he list every little irritant when Duncan was earnestly insisting that his parents had wanted what was best for him? How could he complain about Redcliffe when this hadn’t changed anything? He was still a bastard, still a threat to Cailan, and still a mage. He was a mage. An elf-blooded mage, evidently. There was never any way he could have been a prince and starting life as one would only have made things worse.

“Alistair?”

“What’s she like?”

“Fiona? She’s very…steadfast. She doesn’t shy away from things. She wants to meet you.”

Alistair jerked his head up.

“That’s part of the reason we’ve been writing.” He explained.

“Do the Wardens not want us to…”

“She’s waiting on your reply.”

“Oh, well,”

She had left him in a stable and rode off to fight Darkspawn. She got to avoid the Circle while he’d been left to stare down Templars every day of his life since he was nine. She hadn’t bothered to check up on him in 16 years. But she was his mother. The vague, warm, ideal he had constructed while curled up on himself with his chantry amulet held tight in his palm was a real person and she wanted to meet him. Now, rather than a Andraste-esque hazy image with Alim’s descriptions of his own mother filling in the gaps, he’d have a real face to remember.

“I’ll give you time to consider.” Duncan said. He clapped Alistair on the shoulder and left the office, closing the door quietly behind himself.


	5. Chapter 5

No one would look him in the eye. If they saw his face at all it was to stare at the swelling that blinded his right side. Alim walked through the dining hall like a ghost. Bodies moved out of his way as if he were another pillar to swerve past. Eyes brushed past him as if he wasn’t even there. Words were spoken near, but not at, him. Maybe he had died in the cell and this was his spirit stuck in the mortal world. If he was dead, he wondered why his stomach still felt empty.

Hunger had set up shop behind his ribs and made itself a home. He had choked down some food in the dining hall after the Templars had dragged him out of the dungeons and dumped him in the apprentice hall. After the first few bites he had to run for the privy and struggle to not heave it all back up.

Alim wandered through the halls looking for something to interact with. An apprentice who couldn’t have been older than six stared at his face slightly to the right of his eyes then darted back towards the child minder they were following. Pretty soon dinner hour would be over and the mages would be shepherded back to their chambers and then he’d see whether or the Templars still cared about him.

“Alim?” A quiet voice whispered from his side. He jumped and spun.

“It’s just me.” Jowan put down his book and stood up from the bench he was sitting on. “What are you doing here?”

“I tried to eat.” Alim answered. He didn’t know how to describe what he was feeling.

“And it all came back up?” Alim nodded “You’ve been in the dungeon for days. You probably ate too much too fast. Your stomach gets smaller when you go too long without food. The same thing happened to me after I started eating again when they brought me here.”

Alim nodded again. Jowan shifted uncomfortably.

“Do you want to try getting some rolls out of the dining hall? You still need food, you’ll just need to take it slow for a while.”

Alim nodded silently. Jowan reached out an arm to guide him by the elbow but apparently thought better of it and dropped his hand. The two apprentices walked back through the passage way to the dining hall. This time, people actually saw Alim- or at least they saw Jowan with him.

Jowan was right. It took weeks of slowly eating more and more but Alim could eventually hold down a full meal. It took longer for him to stop bracing himself whenever a Templar was in the room and he never regained the trust he had lost or stopped feeling in the hole in his heart where Alistair used to be.

It was like there was a rip in his robes that let in cold air. No matter what he tried to do, the cold still seeped into his heart. It stopped hurting before he could keep down a meal, though the numbness may have been a type of pain all of its own.

Only two things changed in what could even begin to be considered a positive manner. Jowan and Alim grew closer. It wasn’t the same as the famous duo of ‘Ali and Alim’, there wasn’t nearly as much warmth but there was a bit of trust, more understanding, and the total comprehension of the place in which they lived in.

The other ‘good’ thing was Irvine.

A week after Alim’s return to the tower main, the Senior Enchanter called him to his office. This was it, Alim was sure. His violation of trust had been discovered. Irvine would make him Tranquil and it would all be over. Maybe it would be a relief, to be free of all this pain. Maybe things would be better if he wasn’t full of guilt and grief. Maybe he could get a decent night’s sleep without the demon that had followed him out of the dungeons constantly hounding him.

“Sit, Alim.” Irvine didn’t try to start with any pleasantries.

Alim sat and met the human’s gaze straight on.

“I’m sorry that you had to find out about the true precariousness of our position this way.” Irvine said. “And I’m sorry about Alistair.”

_No, you’re not_ , Alim wanted to scream. _This is what you wanted. You wanted another pawn out of play._

Irvine was watching him, waiting for a response. Alim gritted out a teeth and thanked him for his consolation.

“This does put you in an interesting position,” Irvine continued. “You know exactly what is at stake here. You know and you tried to change things. You have the will to do what is needed to help your fellows, the skill to do so, and the wits to know how to get away with most of it.”

“Most of it?”

“Don’t think I don’t know about your poking around in my records. I have wards just the same as Greagoir.” Irvine smiled and his eyes crinkled like he was the kindly old man he played at being. “And I doubt that you would have been so sloppy as to be caught by Greagoir if you hadn’t perceived a deadline approaching Alistair.”

How much did he know? What would he do with that information?

“I’m not quite sure how you did it but I am impressed, so I have a proposition for you.

“What sort of proposition?”

“A mentorship, I want to train you as my successor.”

Alim frowned. “But First Enchanter is voted into office. What would guarantee that I’d ever be elected?”

“Elected by the rest of our fellow mages.” Irvine lifted a single finger and leaned backward. “What do you think motivates the  enchanters to vote for who they choose? They want to be able to trust their leader. Most see me as the last line of defense between them and death or, even worse, Tranquility. And who do you think they’ll trust when I’m too old to pull off the grandfatherly figure without the irony killing me?”

“And you think that they’d trust me?” Alim scoffed. “They won’t even look at me.”

“They’re scared.” Irvine said, calmly “They’re afraid of you and what the Templars will do to you. Rise above your own fear, or at least look like it. You turn your past into your strength and they’ll see you as unkillable. Someone who doesn’t fear the Templars, one who defied them and lived; that is someone worth trusting your life.” Something in the tone of his voice caught.

“Did they see you as ‘unkillable’?”

“They saw me as unbreakable, once.” Irvine smiled sadly.

Alim nodded, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was nodding about. It seemed appropriate.

“Do you accept?” Irvine asked.

Alim paused and considered what he had seen. He’d seen Irvine agree that sacrificing his best friend would be the whole. He’d seen the true face Greagoir’s faith. He’d seen the demons that lingered in the bowels of the place where he’d live the rest of his life. He’d seen a hero try and fail to save his friend.

“Yes.” He said. “I agree.”

The hunger that lived under his ribs changed that day. Food and the warmth of Alistair’s smile were well and good but they could be taken away in the blink of an eye. No, his hunger would reach for something less transient, and just as necessary for his survival.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite the anticipation building for weeks, Duncan still managed to surprise Alistair. Actually, he surprised both of them if Fiona’s reaction was anything to judge by.

The door to Duncan’s office as open when Alistair arrived. Duncan had asked him to report to his office after the mid-day meal and while his had first leapt to the conclusion that today was The Day, he had quickly squished that hope. Surely, Duncan would have warned him first or there would have been chatter about a new deployment arriving from Orlais. Wardens or not, the team in Denerim was assembled from Fereldan recruits and few Marcher veterans and the memory of the Orlesian occupation hadn’t faded yet.

Someone was sitting in the chair across from Duncan at his desk. He could see black hair and a blue uniform from the doorway.

“Duncan? You said you wanted to-” The person turned around an Alistair stopped dead.

Today was The Day after all. There was a elvhen warden in from of him and a staff rested against the arm of her chair. This had to be Fiona. She was slightly built and nearly comically short, if he was being honest. His immediate thought was that he must truly resemble Maric because he couldn’t see anything of her in his own face but…Ignoring the black hair and pointed chin and narrow frame and skin nearly as dark as Duncan’s, she had large hooded eyes which he’d seen every time he’d looked in a mirror.

“Good, you’re here. Come on it.” Duncan beamed and rose to usher him in. Alistair took a half step over the threshold and desperately hoped he didn’t have anything on his face.

“Fiona, Alistair. Alistair, Fiona.” Duncan introduced one another needlessly. “Now, I’m sure you have plenty to discuss, I’ll just-”

The door clicked shut leaving the two of them alone in Duncan’s office. Fiona finally broke away from staring at him to glare at the door.

“That bastard, he planned this.” She muttered.

“Is that really something that- what am I saying. That is absolutely something Duncan would do.” Alistair interrupted himself.  He bit his tongue before he could babble anymore words he couldn’t take back.

Fiona sighed and propped her hands on hips. “What is it like serving under him? I’ve always had the pleasure of ranking higher than him.”

Alistair blinked and fidgeted. “It’s… nothing like the Circle, I guess? I keep expecting a Templar with rust in his breeches to grump over to me ask what exactly do I think I’m doing. That’s not really about Duncan, is it? Er, he seems driven. Like he has more of a purpose to what he does than anyone who’s been in charge of me before.”

Fiona nodded and smiled a bit but her eyes were sad. “How old were you when they took you?”

“To the Circle? Nine years old.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That you ever ended up there. I wanted so badly for you to never experience that. Maybe if I hadn’t done what I did, you never would have.” Her smile was gone now.

“What could you have done? It’s not like you choose for me to be a mage.” He tried to laugh it off.

Fiona met his eyes evenly. “I asked Maric to not acknowledge you.”

Frozen hay for a bed, burn and bite scars, learning to be hungry before he learned to read…

“Maybe if you had been _Prince_ Alistair you would have avoided the Circle or…”

The paralyzing fear when Ser Jonna walked into the room, pretending to be asleep as Knight-Captain Markus knelt next to Wila’s bed, the panicked look in Alim’s eyes the last time they saw each other, endless nightmares about Tranquility-

“Why? Duncan said Maric didn’t want to be king but why wouldn’t you want me to be…” Safe? Happy? Loved?

Fiona’s face was almost entirely emotionless. Only her eyes (her oh so familiar eyes) showed any sort of sign that she was more than merely mildly annoyed with the conversation.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you becoming a noble. Of you being raised with the idea that you were inherently better than the person beside you merely because you were given power by an accident of birth. The nobility of Orlais are-” She cut herself off. “They do not fit the idea of ‘nobleness’ in the slightest.”

“I’m not Orlesian.” Alistair answered instinctively, though he supposed that wasn’t fully true anymore.

“No,” Fiona smiled. “You’re not, are you?”

Alistair didn’t know how to respond to her comment. He ended up standing silently and trying not to fidget.

“May I…” Fiona lifted her hand in a half-gesture.

“Sure,” Alistair shrugged, even though he didn’t know what she meant by it.

The older warden stepped forward and lifted her hand to his face. She rested it on his cheek and examined his face. Time stretched on but it was no longer uncomfortable. Her hand was warm and calloused but gently against his cheek. He could see tears begin to well-up in her eyes.

“Hello, Alistair, its been so long since I saw you last.” Her voice was a husky whisper.

“I can’t say I remember it.” Alistair grinned. She gave a wet chuckle. She looked warmer when she smiled; softer and kinder, almost like the image of a mother he had imagined.

A sudden impulse took over him and he leaned forward into her chest. Her arms lifted and wrapped around him. He squeezed back and dropped his head to rest on of hers. She was dwarfed by him. He wondered what it would have been like to grow up at her side, to have known her, his _mother_ , when he was the small one. His eyes were shut but he could feel the tears in them. He let them come. Fiona held him tightly and murmured all the things he had wanted to hear for so long.

-

Fiona remained stationed in Denerim until the spring snows melted. Officially, it was to train the new Fereldan mage. They were, quite possibly, the happiest months in the life of Alistair Theirin


	7. Chapter 7

“Hello, Solana. How has your day been so far?” Alim asked as he sat down on the other side of her work bench from the Tranquil.

The human looked up from her work. The pair of Dwarven lens over her face made her eyes seem buggish and warped. She pushed the lenses off her face and carefully removed her heavy lyrium-work gloves before answering.

“It has been very productive. Will my work be delayed by your presence?”

“This work, maybe.” Alim answered honestly. “May I ask for your assistance?”

“Is this to assist the Senior Enchanter?”

“Yes.”

Not entirely a lie. Irvine had given him quite a lot of free rein over the last few years. The other mages and even the Templars had caught on to Irvine’s favoritism. Apprentices had begun to see him as a representative of sorts to the Enchanters’ caucus and voiced their concerns to him. Senior mages had started calling him Irvine’s ‘assistant’. There was an understanding that Alim worked for Irvine and Irvine condoned Alim’s actions. If Alim occasionally pushed those boundaries it was no one else’s business as long as didn’t get caught. And he didn’t get caught because he knew how to be careful.

Solana folded her hands in front of her and waited for Alim to continue. He placed a small bundle of cloth on the table between them. Even with the workshop deserted, a tingle of energy and fear shot down his spine. Irvine didn’t know he was doing this and certainly didn’t know he had stolen from a Templar and the lyrium stock room.

“Can you place this in Ser Dannel’s quarters when you do your philter deliveries today.”

Solana unfolded the package and counted the stolen lyrium phials inside. Three tiny bottles didn’t seem like much but it would be enough to convince other Templars that Ser Dannel was giving in to the addiction. Alim knew that Ser Dannel had been having a liaison of sorts with one of the apprentices, Molly. She had spoken with  Gregoire who insisted that she was merely lying to get out of the consequences of fraternization. Probation and chamber pot duty for a month wasn’t what she had been hoping for at all.

“Do you have somewhere specific in mind?” Solana asked.

“Under his bed, behind one of the headboard legs.” He specified.

Solana nodded, refolded the cloth and tucked the lyrium into her inner robes. The Tranquil stock managers would report missing lyrium this afternoon when they completed their weekly inventory. The Knight Commander would be alerted, would then offer the mages extra privileges if they brought forth information. All Molly had to do was sheepishly admit she noticed some strangely placed Lyrium in Ser Dannel’s room the last time they were together, specifically the location that Alim had scouted and told her about, and Ser Dannel would be in an awkward position.

It wouldn’t clear Molly’s record completely or solve the problem of people like Dannel. Really, it wouldn’t even offer her proper justice but Dannel wouldn’t be in Kinloch anymore, Molly would feel like she had gotten her comeuppance, and Alim would win another ally. Molly wasn’t confident or powerful or particularly skilled but he had seen hurt turn to anger and then to ice in her eyes. She was the sort of mage he wanted on his side when he finally did away with Irvine.

He left Solana to her work and returned to the library where Irvine had assigned him to indexing Ferelden histories. It was a dull task but provided him with time and an alibi. After all, the doors to and from the library where watched at all times. Only the air vents were unchecked and he’d have to be smaller than a cat to get through there.

That night, an explosive confrontation echoed through the Templar hall. It spilled out into the central chamber where curious ears could gather gossip. It was dangerous but Alim couldn’t deny himself a chance to see his handiwork. Ser Dannel denied the theft  but he had been caught red-handed. How else would the stolen lyrium have gotten into his room? The only people who had access were high-ranking Templars like Dannel and the Tranquil.

Greagoir ordered him to the dungeons until morning and when the dawn came, Dannel was never seen in Kinloch again. Rumors swirled in his absence. Lips that had been sealed were free to whisper without the threat of retribution. Molly wasn’t the only apprentice who knew Dannel’s tastes, after all. Just the first foolish enough to go Greagoir first.

“You’re proud of what you’ve done, aren’t you.” A voice whispered to him one night.

“Go away, Hunger.” Alim snapped tried to wave off the demon that had dogged his steps for years.

“Why, Alim? We are just talking after all. I offer you nothing and ask for nothing but words.”

“Words have power.”

“True, and you’ve been learning a lot about power.”

“Ooh, very deep and meaningful.” Alim rolled his eyes.

The demon appeared from the Fade’s mists. It had chosen to look like Irvine this time. At this point, the creature was more of an annoyance than an actual threat. Sure, the instructors would warn that complacency leads to mistakes but Hunger was practically an old friend at this point. An old, very annoying and stubborn ‘friend’.

“But you are proud, no?”

“Sure, Molly got what she wanted, a bunch of us got our revenge, and Dannel is out of the Circle.”

“This Circle, boy.” Hunger tutted. “The Circle is more than a single tower on a single lake. A dozen more places like this exist. Will Dannel go somewhere else next?”

“Who knows? Who cares? He’s gone. I can’t change what happens in places I’ve never seen.”

Hunger sighed. “You didn’t lie earlier but you didn’t tell me the truth. You said you were proud. But of saving your fellow mage? No, you are proud you got away with it.”

“Truly, your insights are amazing. You’re putting your mind-reading powers to great use by noticing I’m relieved I’m not being dragged away and made Tranquil right now.” Alim rolled his eyes.

Hunger frowned and huffed. “I’m trying to help, Alim. You’re proud because you took another step. You hunger for power, I know this even as you deny it. But power over this little tower? Power to remove one cruel man out of a thousand? No, we both know this is not enough.”

“And you can give me the power to kill the Divine, cure the Blight, and have cake for dinner. Blah blah blah. Don’t you ever get bored, Hunger?”

The demon smiled. “I know boredom more than you could ever guess, little mage. I’ll leave you for the night. Have a peaceful rest.” He waved and dissipated into the fog. Alim was left alone in the unending mist.

-

In the dim light, Alistair could more intuit than see the movement of the Hurlock in from of him. He ducked low under its sword and jabbed forward with his staff. A satisfying jolt went up the bladed end to his arms as he sliced through muscle and hit bone. He spun backward and lit the blade with a fire spell. He only needed a half-second of light to see the blinded darkspawn in front of him. He swung his staff in an arc, starting low and aiming for the neck. A jagged ice bolt truck it in the head and decapitated the Hurlock before he could make contact.

Alistair frowned at the corpse as it fell to the ground then glared behind him.

“I had it.” He grumbled.

“I know you did.” Fiona smiled and leaned against her staff.

“Just because he’s fresher than soft shit doesn’t mean you need to encourage him.” Corbin said.

The gruff dwarf was throat-cutting the downed darkspawn further down the tunnel. They had downed the band easily but caution is always priority one, as Corbin liked to bark. Daila relit the lantern they’d extinguished while stalking the darkspawn and hung it from the back hook of her halberd. Once his eyes adjusted to the new light, Alistair could see that there were more bodies than he originally thought. His estimate had been off when judging the size of the force. He needed to keep working on that.

Corbin stripped off a gauntlet and pressed his hand against the blood stained floor. The dwarf cocked his head as if he was listening. As much as the man grumbled about the sun burning away his Stone Sense, he still could navigate the tunnels of the Deep Roads better than anyone else in the Denerim compound. He was crucial for their mission scouting into the tunnels under the Waking Sea.

“We’re stilling heading the right way.” He concluded. “At least as best we can hope. There’s another junction up ahead and we’re climbing a bit high. We’ll need to head more east then if we can. The rock here is one shake away from collapse and I wouldn’t be surprised if the unbuttressed tunnels are already down.

“And we’re just walking around here? Waiting to be crushed? Daila asked.

“Either by rock falls or by ogres.” Corbin cheerfully confirmed.

We’ll push on for a few more hours then set camp.” Fiona ordered and they continued to march forward.

The small band of Grey Wardens stalked through the dim light of the Deep Roads. Even after a year of tramping around in the dark and honing his skills hunting ‘spawn, Alistair was still adjusting to the fact that he was actually elf-blooded. Not that Fiona was his mother, but that he wasn’t human.

When he was younger and spent his time almost entirely with Alim, he had thought the idea that elves could see better in the dark was just folklore meant to make the elves seem either animalistic or supernatural, depending on who was spouting the idea. The other apprentices were just whining when they said they couldn’t see without extra candles, not that his eyes were better at picking up light. Now that he spent weeks at a time trekking through sunless environments with true humans, he realized just what a difference it made. He’d been selected for this mission because he could keep up with Daila, Fiona, and Corbin after all.

Other things were a bit harder to wrap his head around.

He used to dream that he’d be whisked away to Denerim after some terrible mistake was cleared up. But no, Maric really had forgotten about him in a stable on the other side of the country. As much as Fiona assured him the Marica had cared and that they had never intended for his childhood in the stable, it didn’t change the fact that Maric had let his half-elf son live with the animals. Alistair had a suspicion about why.

Fiona had the excuse of being stationed at Weishaupt until recently, Maric had attended banquets in the dining halls Alistair helped scrub. Before he found his magic, Alistair had thought he’d be sent off to Templar training by Lady Isolde but that would never have happened. No elves were allowed in the Chantry and Eamon was too pious to send them a half-breed.

As much as it stung, he’d been a forgotten child his whole life but a forgotten _human_ child. Learning he was half-elf was different. In some ways, he didn’t know who he was anymore. Now, when he looked in the mirror he couldn’t help but wonder if his eyes truly were larger than normal or pinch at the shell of his ears. Fiona, at least, seemed to understand somehow. She didn’t get annoyed or angry when he asked her questions about life in the Alienage, though she would sometimes not answer fully. Best of all, Duncan had to pull rank and directly order her to not go to Redcliffe and start a fight with Arl Eamon after Alistair had off handedly mentioned sleeping with dogs when in Denerim.

They didn’t really talk about Maric but they still talked. For once, he felt like he a had a mother, even if he still didn’t know what to do about her not being as human as he expected. He wasn’t an elf but he wasn’t really a human either. He wasn’t a prince and he could hardly call himself a circle mage now. But maybe he could consider himself a Grey Warden.

“What are you smiling about?” Daila asked and thumped him with the butt of her halberd.

“Nothing.” Alistair quickly replied.

Daila narrowed her eyes but didn’t pursue the issue.

The tunnel ended in a collapse that cut them off from the junction they were hoping for but created a path up into the sun. Alistair’s eyes stung in the bright light but as they adjusted he could see a forest of evergreens stretching out for miles below the cliff face entrance to the Deep Roads. He took a breath of fresh air and breathed freely.


	8. Chapter 8

Well the maker had a sense of humor after all.  Four years after he had  failed to have the warden save Alistair, Alim was the one riding away from Kinloch Hold next to Duncan.  He glared at the horse’s neck and struggled to stay seated.

“We’ll make it to Ostagar tomorrow night, I suspect.” Duncan announced.

Alim turned his glare from the cursed animal to the cursed human. He had kept most of his cursing inside for the last two weeks. Two weeks of cold and rain and the man who had failed to take away Alistair was now taking him away from years of work in the Circle.

He had worked hard after he lost Alistair. He might hate Irvine but he knew the man was a pragmatist and that pragmatism was the fastest way for him to gain the power that he needed to keep safe. Now, he had to start from scratch. Learning all the rules for working within the Wardens and how to survive in a foreign environment would take time. Time that could have been spent furthering his attempt to see Greagoir and Irvine both dead. He glared at his horse and at Duncan and fumed internally.

Some of the anger faded when he saw his first glimpse of the towers of Ostagar. It reminded him of Kinloch with their tall spires and hard lines. They were both Tevinter structures so it made sense but the scale was foreign. Kinloch had been his whole world for so long and now it could fit in one of the crumbling towers that dotted the skyline.

It didn’t strike Alim until the sun began to set over the towers that he had a looser reign than ever before. Even as Irvine’s protegee, he was still a mage. Greagoir never forgot that he had been instrumental in losing the pawn of the king’s bastard and his path to First Enchanter meant restricting himself in ways that Jowan or the other mages never worried about. But now…The sun was setting and he could stop to watch clouds change color without wasting time. There were no other tasks that required his urgent attention. There was no Irvine or Greagoir to inspect his every move. He was free of the constant scrutiny that he had learned to expect.

Perhaps he’d die in the coming battle and perhaps that was a fine way to end but in this moment, there was no one in charge of him but himself. If he wanted to, he could bolt. He could make a run for it and look for the Dalish or one of the mythic apostate strongholds. As far as the Circle was concerned, he was a Warden and he doubted Duncan would want to admit he’d let a recruit escape in less than a month.

But he wouldn’t. He had no idea how to survive and what if he encountered darkspawn? No, he’d go back to Duncan’s bonfire and take his lot. It was what he had done since he first found he could knock the biscuit jar off the counter without touching it.

Daveth and Jory were standing next to Duncan in the glow of the fire. Next to them, a warden in uniform with his hood pulled up leaned on a bladed polearm. As Alim approached, he could hear the man speaking to Duncan.

“You’re really not going to tell me? It’s got to be someone I know; you wouldn’t recruit anyone to young.”

No. It couldn’t be.

“Maybe he was transferred from another circle.” Duncan countered. Alim could see a smile starting on the human’s face as he drew closer to the light.

“Perhaps, but you’re trying not to smile. It’s not someone I actually liked is it? Because that could be uncomfortable if tonight ends poorly. Maker’s breath why are you grinning like that? It’s not Jowan-”

“Alistair?”

The warden stopped midsentence and turned. Alim saw King Cailan cast two shades darker. A short beard covered his face and the years had given Alistair another foot of height but it was him. Alistair was alive.

“Alim!” Alistair yelled and the next thing he knew, Alim was engulfed in blue wool. A man’s arms wrapped around him and held him tightly. He froze and tried to process what was happening. Alistair was alive, alive and holding him with the sort of strength reserve for Templars who had spent years training with swords and heavy armor. He was alive because Duncan _had_ managed to save him after all.

Alim clung to Alistair and pressed his face into the wool covered metal of his armor. He smelled like tree bark and horse sweat and dirt. Scents that Alim had barely known until recently. But under that; the crisp smell of lyrium potion and staff oil and wool robes.

“You’re alive.” Alim mumbled into Alistair’s chest. To his shame, he felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

“So are you!” Alistair laughed.

Alim pulled back and looked up at Alistair. He did have to look up to see his face, which he didn’t remember doing before. Maker, he looked so happy. His form had filled out and he had put on muscle that was visible in the shape of his shoulders under his armor. His cheeks were full and his beard had come in. Alim found himself a bit jealous. He realized that his fingers were still clinging to Alistair’s surcoat. He took a step back quickly.

“You two know each other?” Daveth asked.

“We practically grew up together!” Alistair exclaimed. Alim’s heart did a flip hearing him sound so happy. His face darkened a bit and he spun.

“You!” He shouted and pointed dramatically at Duncan. Duncan’s brow lifted but his face remained perfectly blank.

“Yes, Alistair?”

“This is revenge for the apples, isn’t?”

“I believe the apples were retaliation for the genlock head and I am a above escalation.” Duncan shrugged. “It merely slipped my mind.”

“Did it slip your mind to not let me in on the fact he was still alive.” Alim tore his eyes away from Alistair and glared at Duncan.

“I did tell you I would do my best to get him out.” Duncan at least looked a bit remorseful. “And you hardly seemed talkative on our journey.”

Alim scowled and tried to ignore that Duncan had a bit of a point.

“Did you really think I was dead?” Alistair asked.

“Greagoir showed me your phylactery.” Alim said quietly. “It was dead. He told us all that they brought back a body.”

“The Joining makes the phylactery useless.” Duncan noted. Which he could have done four years ago when it was relevant the first time.

“Alim,” Alistair put his hand on Alim’s shoulder. There was weight in his eyes that Alim wasn’t expecting.

“I’m so sorry that you thought I died.”

Alim couldn’t bare seeing him so somber. He had always been the lighthearted one who found something to laugh about at the worst of times. Alim grinned and shrugged.

“Well, you’re not, are you? And we’re back together again.” Alim smiled.

He expected a smile on Alistair’s face but his frown deepened and something like fear came into his eyes.

“Alistair, we must begin the Joining.” Duncan’s voice also had a seriousness to it. Every instinct Alim had honed over the last four years was telling him that something was wrong.

“Of course.” Alistair nodded, gave Alim’s shoulder one last squeeze and joined Duncan on the other side of the bonfire. Alim noted new scratches and callouses on Alistair’s hands. He walked with grace and confidence that had existed in the Circle.

Lit by the bonfire, the two Wardens made a dramatic figure. A shiver ran up Alim’s spine as he looked at Alistair and saw a man. The long curved blade on his staff looked like it could remove a head in one swing and Alim didn’t doubt that Alistair could do just that. He had felt the muscle under the armor when Alistair had hugged him. Alistair caught his eye as Duncan began to speak and gave him a little grin.

Alim’s heart lifted and then sank when he realized what happened. It was the same thing that happened when the new primalist transferred in from the White Spire and would pat on him the shoulder every time he nailed a new spell. It was the same thing that happened when Keili stopped wearing her hair in her face all the time. He was developing a crush on his best friend and he knew it wouldn’t end well.


	9. Chapter 9

Alim was here! For the first time in years Alistair could see his friend and know he was safe. The guilt of leaving him behind had chased Alistair since he left Kinloch and now… now the guilt was holding its breath. Some much had happened in four years and Alistair wanted to tell Alim everything. The Grey Wardens would be a perfect fit for him; exploring tunnels full of secrets, pushing himself to the limit hunting darkspawn, living free of constant Templar supervision, Alim would love it. Or; the Alim Alistair had left behind would love. A lot could happen in four years, after all.

Alistair wanted this to be a perfect reunion, one that ended with Alim joining him in the family the Wardens had become. But reality never worked like the stories they had read about the outside world. There was a Blight looming on the horizon, Alistair still woke with the image of Daila ripped apart by hurlocks in his mind, and it all hinged on Alim even surviving the next few hours.

His friend peered suspiciously at the dim wilds around them and Alistair felt his joy being tempered into grim expectation. He had let Alim take the lead for their small group. Daveth seemed to intimidated by Ser Jory’s  title and Alim’s magic to take charge and the knight looked almost like he was regretting his choice to come with Duncan. Alim, for all the chaos, looked unaffected.

Maybe it was the years apart, maybe it was scar that split the skin under his eye, maybe it was just Alim hiding his feelings but Alistair couldn’t get a beat on what his friend was feeling. When they came across a slaughtered scouting party and heard the testimony of the lone survivor, Jory fretted, Daveth called him a coward, and Alim simply suggested they push onward.

“Group up ahead.” Alistair warned.

“Of Darkspawn?” It was the first words Alim addressed directly to him since they left the army camp.

Alistair nodded. “Less than a dozen. Heading out way from the south.”

Alistair hung back as the first hurlocks crested the rise in front of them. He watched for a beat as Jory and Daveth approached their targets. The knight moved with purpose and precision while the thief darted towards the treeline, dodging arrows as he narrowed in on the crossbow wielding genlock. Alistair had a moment to wonder what Alim would do when faced with combat before a hurlcok exploded next to Jory. The force knocked him down and flattened the two darkspawn he was engaging. He spared a glance behind him to see Alim beginning to mutter the focusing words of his next spell. As it turned out, Alim wasn’t half had in a fight.

Alistair had remind himself this wasn’t his usual squad as he spun into battle. Corbin wouldn’t know how to keep flankers off his back, Rosco wouldn’t be offering covering fire from the rear, and Fiona wouldn’t be anticipating his every step as she guided her deadly bolts into the melee.

For the most part, Jory’s bombastic battle cries kept him focused but the as the last Hurlock turned tail to retreat, he let concerns of group dynamics fade. He dashed forward to cut off its retreat and leapt up with his staff twirling in a powerful move that put his whole weight behind his attack. He watched the Hurlock run to its death- just as a fireball impacted into its back and exploded.

The rippling orange flames spread out and engulfed him. If it wasn’t for his spell-shields, he would have been charred to a crisp. As it was, the metal banding on his staff nearly burned his palms. Alistair landed on his knees, and tried to blink the sunspots out of his eyes. He smelt burning hair and ran his hand over his eyebrows to confirmed they had been singed off.

“Maker, Alistair!” Alim sprinted to him. “Are you alright? I didn’t know you were going for that last one. I didn’t expect that fireball to get so big. I’ve never put everything I could into one before.”

“It’s okay, Alim.” Alistair waved off the mistake. “This is your first fight. You should have seen me.”

Alim blinked and looked away for a second. So this wasn’t the first time he had used his magic on the offensive?

“Is this truly your first fight?” Jory asked. “Why would Duncan recruit a mage without any experience?”

“Because he just turned that thing to ash.” Daveth answered. “Can I keep this?” He held up a massive twisted dagger that looked like it had been made from at least three different swords.

“Looting is fair game as long as it’s not recognizable as being a person recently.” Alistair gave his assent. “Just don’t get weighted down too much. We’ve got a ways to go. Throw me that helmet, would you?”

Daveth plucked the leather helmet off the Hurlock he was standing on and tossed it over. Alistair inspected it for condition and any darkspawn mushy bits then plopped it on Alim’s head.

“Here, you’re going to need one of these. Darkspawn aren’t smart but they’re smart enough to figure out killing the mage stops the fireballs. You might end up with some unwanted attention.”

Alim nodded. He looked a bit flushed. Alistair wondered if it was because of the near miss or the future danger.

With their blades wetted, so to speak, they pushed forward into the wilds. Darkspawn, wolves, dead missionaries, and an angry spirit waylaid them but the spires of the old keep were still visible against the quickly fading twilight when they approached the ruins. Even decrepit and crumbling, they were an impressive testament to Tevinter architecture. Over a thousand years after their construction and still the statues to long dead magisters glared down at them. Alim let out an audible gasp as they walked into main keep. They picked over the remnants of different rooms, searching for the tell-tale signs of magical sealing and found nothing until;

“Well, well, what have we here?” A Chasind wilder perched on a ruined staircase stared down at them with a superior glare.

“Are you a vulture, I wonder?” She mused. “A scavenger poking amdist a corpse who’s bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey. What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?”

“What makes them ‘your’ wilds, exactly?” Alim demanded.

Alistair wanted to shush him. He’d run into a few Chasind in the past. Their shamans weren’t above consorting with demons and he could nearly taste the magic this woman. She merely laughed at his questsion.

“Because I know them as only someone who owns them could. Can you claim the same?” So even if she wasn’t an immediate threat, she was an asshole.

“I have watched your progress for some time.” She continued. “Where do you go, I wondered, why are they here? And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that.”

“Careful, Alim.” Alistair muttered as the woman prowled around them like a hungry wolf. “She looks Chasind. That means there could be others nearby.”

“You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?” She said derisively.

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Yes, swooping is bad.”

“She’s a Witch of the Wilds she is!” Daveth added. “She’ll turn us into toads.”

Now it was the potential witch’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Witch of the Wilds. Such idle fancy, those legends. Have you no mind of your own? You there, elves do not believe in such twaddle. Tell me your name and I will tell you mine. Let us be ‘civilized’.”

For a second, Alistair thought she was indicating him until he remembered Alim.

“You can call me Alim.” He answered.

“And you can call me Morrigan.” She bowed her head slightly. “Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something here, something that is here no longer?”

“’Here no longer’?” Alistair was liking this woman less with every smug word. “Because you stole them?”

“And how does one steel from dead men?” She sneered.

“Quite easily, it seems. The documents we need are Grey Warden property and I suggest you return them.” He ordered.

“I will not, for it was not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish, I am not threatened.”

“You say that like you know who did take them.” Alim said.

“’Twas my mother, in fact” The witch answered as if it was the most obvious thing.

“Then can you take us to see her?”

Morrigan smiled like a spider who had just caught a fly. “Now there’s a sensibly request. I like you.”

“Alim, we really don’t know anything about her.” Alistair warned. “I wasn’t kidding about other wilders waiting in the wings. They send out a pretty girl with ‘ _ooh_ , _I like you_ ’ and then you’re full of arrows.”

“She’ll put us all in the pot she will. Just you watch.” Daveth or so helpfully added.

“If you pots warmer than this forest it will be a nice change.” Jory quipped.

Morrigan ignored the two humans. “Follow me then, if it pleases you.”

And she walked into the brush.

“Alim?”

“I thought you were the senior warden here, Alistair.”

“I’m supervisor on your Joining mission. We’ve collected the blood.” The blood that could kill him

“But not the treaties. If we see any arrows pointing out of the bushes will turn back but she’s just one woman so far. We’re pretty capable, right?”

Well, this hadn’t changed. Alim would get some idea in his head and list off all the reason it was a good idea. This was the ‘approval’ stage of how they got into trouble. Alistair could speak up now and nip it in the bud or just hold on for the rife.

He sighed. “You’re right. But the minute this starts to look bad we’re out.”

“Fair enough.” Alim agreed and followed the witch into the woods.


End file.
